


Mum's the Word

by avislightwing



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Elain is an oblivious angel, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fem!Rhys, Fluff, Nonbinary!Amren, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 09:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avislightwing/pseuds/avislightwing
Summary: Elain lives a pretty quiet life - nothing like her ambitious sister Nesta or her adventurous sister Feyre. But her life is turned upside down when she meets Mor.





	Mum's the Word

It was an ordinary Tuesday, and Elain wasn’t expecting many customers. So she was entirely unprepared – distracted and trying to balance the shop finances from the previous month – when the door of the shop slammed open with a violent rattle of the bell and a woman stormed in like a blonde hurricane, stomped up to Elain’s counter, and slapped both palms down, leaning in and scowling. “How do you say _fuck you_ in flower?” she demanded.

Elain opened her mouth, then shut it again, utterly wrong-footed. “Excuse me?”

The woman pushed off of the counter and ran both hands through her hair in the epitome of righteous and dramatic fury. “I need something that will make clear to a certain ginger bastard that not only am I not interested in sleeping with him, if he keeps hitting on me, I’ll rip his face off.”

“Um.” Elain carefully set her pen down. “Well. There’s tansy, though that’s really more of an herb.”

“What does it mean?”

“It… it means ‘I declare war on you and everything you stand for.’”

The woman nodded thoughtfully. “Not bad, not bad… what else?”

“If you want my honest opinion,” Elain said hesitantly, “if he’s as bad as you say, he’ll probably take any gift of flowers, no matter how ill-intentioned, as a romantic gesture, and not bother looking up what the flowers actually mean.”

“Ugh. You’re probably right. Eris would, the bastard.”

Elain giggled in spite of herself. “I mean, there’s a nice patch of thistles outside. Would that work?”

The woman perked up. “That sounds perfect! Oh, I’d love for him to have hands full of spikes. I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Elain,” Elain said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. Nice place you have here.” Mor looked around. Elain’s shop was small, but tidy, with paintings on the walls courtesy of her sister Feyre and a burglar alarm on the door courtesy of her other sister Nesta. “Cozy.”

“There’s tea in the corner if you want some,” Elain said, gesturing to the kettle and basket of homemade teabags.

Mor walked over to inspect the set-up. “I drive past your shop at least twice a day to and from work,” she said, looking doubtfully at the electric kettle. “But I’ve never come in before. I’m not really a flower girl, you know?”

Elain helpfully pressed the button to turn the kettle on. “Not a flower girl?”

“Not that I don’t think yours are lovely,” Mor hurried to say, hearing the touch of hurt in Elain’s voice. “They are! But I have a terrible brown thumb.” She sighed deeply. “I even kill cut flowers. Rhys once gave me roses for my birthday, and they were dead by the next morning. She was so upset.”

“Is Rhys your girlfriend?” Elain asked politely.

Mor laughed so hard she snorted and had to put a hand on the counter for balance. “What? No! She’s my cousin.”

“Oh.” Elain felt color rise in her face.

“You’re not the first one to think that,” Mor admitted, wiping a tear from her eye. Her eyes, Elain noticed, were a lovely melty brown, like hot chocolate. “We look nothing alike.”

“Are you close, then?” Elain asked, curious. They must be, if people mistake them for a couple with any regularity.

“Yeah.” Mor started sorting through the teabags, sniffing cautiously at each one. “We practically grew up together, me and Rhys and her two brothers, Cassian and Azriel.”

“I always wanted a brother,” Elain said, a bit wistfully. It’s not that she doesn’t love her sisters – she does – but she’d wondered for ages what having a brother would be like.

Mor plunked her selected teabag into one of the mugs Elain had set on the counter for exactly that purpose. “They’re not all they’re cracked up to be,” she informed Elain as the other woman turned off the bubbling kettle and poured water into her mug. “I mean, sure, I love them, but they’re _impossible_.” She brightened. “You could see for yourself, if you want. We usually go out on Friday nights. Want to come along sometime?”

Elain gaped at Mor. “I – I don’t even know you,” she managed, feeling at the same time that it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Mor waved that off. “I owe you one for the thistles and the tea. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some company I’m not related to for a change.”

“Shouldn’t you check with your – your family first?” Elain said, not sure why she was protesting so mightily.

Mor scoffed, tasting her tea and making a pleased expression. “Cassian didn’t bother to warn us before he brought his boyfriend along. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Then, as Elain searched for a response that didn’t seem to exist, she added, “But you have to promise you won’t flirt with Rhys. That has a tendency to happen with my friends.”

“Um. No. I won’t,” Elain assured her, wondering if that meant she’d just agreed to go. And if that meant she was Mor’s friend now.

“Lovely.” Mor checked her watch – a very nice one, gold with what looked like real diamonds around the face – and groaned. “Ugh. I have to go. Here.” She grabbed a napkin from the small stack and scribbled something onto it. “My number and the name of the club,” she explained, pushing the napkin over the counter to Elain. “We usually get there around nine. Shoot me a text if you can’t find it.” With that, she gulped down the rest of her tea and set the mug on the counter with a clink. “Well, I have thistles to pick, an unwanted suitor to skewer, and a job to get back to. See you later, Elain!” She reverse-hurricaned out the door.

Elain was left with the mug, which had red lipstick on the rim, and the napkin with _Mor Hoshekh, 555-6945, Rita’s_ written on it in purple pen, and the distinct feeling that a rug had been pulled out from under her feet.

It wasn’t such a bad feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as birdiethebibliophile!


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